


French Girl.

by Elevensins



Series: The Things Captain America Puts Up With [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1609472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elevensins/pseuds/Elevensins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone had something they did in their downtime.  For Steve Rogers, all he needed was a sketch pad and a pencil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	French Girl.

Sometimes he went to coffee shops to sit and think, surrounded by people and yet very alone at the same time. He sketched randomly. Buildings, people, someone’s pet dog on a leash. Other times a memory stirred, and he woke up from his art trance to see Bucky staring back at him. The one he knew in the 1940s. He even sketched Nick Fury a time or two, with and without the eye-patch. 

Other times he remained in Stark Tower, quickly becoming known as Avengers Tower, and found an empty spot in the sunlight to sketch the world down below. A different perspective. Natasha always looked for him when she knew he was in the building somewhere, brought him a cup of coffee and watched him sketch for a few minutes. No one else ever looked for him unless they needed him for something, and that’s usually when Jarvis informed him he was being paged.

So when Tony himself meandered into the room, Steve figured it was Natasha again and said, “Thought I needed coffee again, Nat?” without looking up.

"No," Tony replied, invading personal space to stare right over Steve’s shoulder at the half finished drawing. "Wow, you’re really pretty good. I had no idea."

Steve’s pencil nearly snapped and he put it down, turning his head and realizing Stark really was that uncomfortably close. And smelled like ozone and something like singed hair. He wrinkled his nose. ”If you’re going to get that close, next time get a shower first.”

The insult worked, Tony snapping up straight and furrowing a brow at him. “Hey, I've at least been working hard on projects all day. Not spending the morning day dreaming.”

"It’s not day dre— what do you want?" Steve glared at him from over his shoulder. 

Tony shrugged, sipping the coffee from the mug in his hand. ”Oh, just wondered what you were up to, that’s all. You disappear for hours and I got curious.”

"Well now you know, and knowing is half the battle." 

Steve picked up his pencil again as Tony laughed and complimented his use of something pop culture-y. But now Steve was attempting to ignore him, though suddenly the lines on his sketch were much heavier and he was holding the pencil tight enough to feel it beginning to give way.

To his chagrin, Tony didn’t leave. He stood there for a few more minutes and then put the mug down on a table and flopped down on the couch across from Steve’s chair. He stretched out across it, one arm lazily looped over his abdomen and the other arched over his head. ”Draw me like one of your French girls.”

Steve blinked at him. ”Why in the world would I want to draw you like a French girl?”

Tony rolled onto his back and laughed, eyes squeezing shut. ”Cap, you are just… someday I’m going to expose you to chick flicks just to watch your face.”

"Natasha seems fond of chick flicks," Steve said, glaring at him now. "I’d be careful disparaging them in front of her."

With a sigh, the laughter subsided and Tony wiped at the corner of his eye before getting up and reclaiming his mug of coffee. ”Yeah, you have a point. Wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of one of her pistols.”

Steve breathed an audible sigh of relief when Tony finally left, rolling his eyes when he heard him shout, “You really should watch Titanic sometime! Wait, were you alive when it sank?”

He didn't answer. He was too busy flipping to the next page on his sketchbook and putting pencil to paper again. By the time Natasha made her rounds he had the sketch itself finished and was busy with shading.

She put his cup of coffee down on the table next to him and glanced over his shoulder. Blessedly not too close, and she smelled very faintly of something floral. ”That’s um… Steve what are you doing?”

He looked up at her and grinned. ”Tony asked for it. Begged for it practically.”

Natasha’s eyes lit up, crinkling at the edges. “I think I know exactly where this needs to go.”

It took a little help from Pepper, who had to make herself stop laughing long enough to upload the image, The laughter rang out all through Stark Tower, and soon enough the image itself began making the rounds on the internet.

The original sketch, Steve tucked into the back of his sketchbook. A can can dancer with uplifted skirt and unshaven, gangly legs and Tony’s caricature face with a mophead of curls in every direction atop his misshapen, cartoonish face. 

The bottom read simply: To My French Girl, Tony Stark. With love, Captain America.


End file.
